You Gotta Shoot 'Em in the Head
by Night's Beloved
Summary: Larger Summary and warnings Inside: M!LW and Clover accept a contract from Mister Crowley. EDIT: Changed genre 2 to Mystery
1. Deals with a Devil

**You Gotta Shoot 'em in the Head**

**Character Key**

**Ted Strayer - A chem addict living in Rivet City**

**Alistair Tenpenny - The Master of Tenpenny's Tower**

**Dave - The leader of the Republic of Dave**

**Dukov - A drunken Russian living in the D.C. Ruins**

**Mister Crowley - A Ghoul with caps and a vendetta**

**Clover - The slave-companion of the Wanderer**

**The Wanderer - A cold gun for hire**

**(Summary: Just to get myself back into writing fanfiction, and writing in general that I've never really lost to the spark for but certainly lost a lot of time for, I'm going to write up a little short story involving my rendition of the Lone Wanderer, his slave-companion Clover and the quest of the title name. Now, whilst reading this you may notice some things that do not appear in-game. That would be for the fact that I'm trying to make this my own story set within an already established universe... and as many people tend to do, making my own take on things. Such as... who in the Capital Wasteland would have the capacity to actually _repair_ a Chinese Stealth Suit since it is after all a one of a kind item? The Brotherhood of Steel... maybe, though not entirely likely without trying to take the armor from the Wanderer. And I'm certain we all know how that would end up.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Fallout Universe, nor any of the characters herein beyond my rendition of the Wanderer inasmuch as Bethesda has allowed me to create in the game and my writing abilities has allowed me to potray here in this work.**

**Warnings: This story has a very dark protagonist, who a: enjoys killing and light torture, b: owns a slave, c: is not above using either of these two assets of his to earn currency. Mentions and use of alcohol and drugs- referred to as Chems- are also contained herein. If any of these things offend you, by all means do not read. Now, for those that haven't been turned away, enjoy.)**

* * *

Crowley sat across from the man and woman he'd called over to discuss his business proposition carefully observing them as he swirled his drink in its glass. The amber colored whiskey had the usual 'floaters'- sediment and other undesirables to his pre-War mind- within it, but he couldn't expect much. Hadn't really expected much since the bombs fell. But the two smoothskins that sat in front of him... well, they looked a hair more promising than his drink.

The woman, he'd heard her called by the name Clover, sat with her chair scooted close to her companion, casually draping one arm across his shoulders and tracing patterns on his black combat armor while whispering in his ear, giggling to herself at whatever it was that she'd said to him. Her own combat armor was of the more common variety found throughout the wastes; olive drab with no discerning insignias and hanging from her belt were two weapons that looked as if they'd seen much use despite their decent condition; the first was a sawed off shotgun and the other was a chinese officer's sword, moved aside to offer her a more comfortable sitting position as she stroked her companions arm. To Crowley, the woman appeared just bordering on the edge of sanity- or as if she were laced out on Jet. Dangerous, if not altogether competent.

But the man that sat next to her with ice cold blue eyes that seemed to be peering at him with as much intensity as a slavering Deathclaw was the one whom he figured to be the brains. And likely several times more dangerous. Beneath his combat armor was another suit of a like that Crowley had never seen before, one that was just a shade off of being black, though it covered his entire form so much so that he'd disregarded anything of the combat armor but the actual chest piece and shoulder pieces. Whatever it was, Crowley doubted that the switchblade pressing against his thigh from within his pocket would do much good against it. And with the man's armaments, Crowley had no ambition to test his theory. On his back was a black, silenced and scoped assault rifle with a stock that was folded down on it and peeking over his opposite shoulder was the hilt of a strange curved sword. Hanging on his hips from a black gun belt were a pair of 10mm pistols and ammunition clips and magazines were strapped to various parts of his body, along with a few grenades. The man was packing for a war.

In spite of all of that, what disturbed Crowley the most out of his entire armament was the expression that he had locked on the ghoul. Hands folded in front of his face as he leaned on the table with his elbows and kept his face completely passive of all of the woman's ministrations, Crowley knew that his expression was as sharp as any blade and that it was no mask he wore. This man was a cold and calculating bastard. Someone that Crowley couldn't discount as being a _very_ useful ally to make. Or an extremely dangerous enemy to have.

"I'm waiting," a voice as cold as the expression he wore lazily reached over to Crowley. With a quick side glance over at Clover, the woman detached herself from him and sauntered over to the bar after retrieving a handful of caps from his side. Crowley watched the woman walk away for a moment before turning his attention back to the person that would either be a threat or an opportunity depending on how he played his cards.

"What are you a bigot, can't even stand letting a gho-"

"That's strike one," the man interrupted him calmly, and an anything but pleasant smile slowly worked its way across his features. There was something predatory in the look of the man as he leaned forward a little more and continued with a non-chalant air, "You called me over to discuss business. Now you're being insulting? That's not very good business smarts. Now either tell me what you're offering or this conversation becomes very nasty very quickly and I don't care what kind of money you're offering. Keep it civilized and we'll do just fine."

Crowley had to physically bite back his instant retort to the smoothskin, and only reminded himself of the wisdom of doing so as he looked over the man's weapons again. What a pompous ass!

"Right then," sneered Crowley after a moment. "There's a group of people I want dead." He paused at that, waiting for some sort of reaction. The man offered none, not a twitch of his muscles, not a smirk not even averting his gaze in the slightest. He just... waited. Damn do I know how to pick 'em... "They're real bigots, the lot of them. And they need to be pay for it! Each one of 'em, they need to be shot in the head!" Crowley quickly simmered himself down as he realized he was getting loud, and settled himself in his seat before anyone in Carol's Place decided to see what had gotten him riled up. "Is that a problem?"

"Depends on how much you're paying. Bullets aren't cheap."

Crowley nearly started his prepared speech to convince the man, but stopped short as he realized what he'd said. No questioning of what they'd done, no demanding answers but one. Payment. Crowley worked over the lump that had developed in his throat and nodded softly, "A hundred caps, each. Four of 'em."

The man nodded and sat back in his seat, holding out one hand. The blonde had returned and easily slipped his drink into his hand. It looked like a glass of scotch and Crowley looked down at his own whiskey for a second as the man rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. The ghoul slugged back a good portion of the drink, while the man only casually took a small draw.

"I'm going to need names and locations, and then and only then will I decide," he said with that ever calm voice of his, but Crowley detected a hint of amusement there. He wondered for a moment what it was that was so damn funny, until he noticed that one of Clover's hands were beneath the table as she casually sipped from the lip of her beer. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.

"The first one... this one is a bit of a tall order, but his name's Allistair Tenpenny. You know where Tenpenny Tower is at?", at the man's casual nod he went on, "Well that's the first one. Word'll get around about him dying, but the others I'm going to need some proof... Like a ring, or maybe a key they have." The man's eyes flicked over to him with a flash of curiosity. Crowley fought back a curse, but the man didn't inquire any further on it, simply nodding. "The others are Jeff Strayer, no idea where he's at... but I'd try around Rivet City. Might have ducked into there at some point. Then there's... Dukov, he's got his own place right here in the D.C. Ruins. Probably whoring it up."

Clover's amused green eyes suddenly hardened as she snapped her gaze over to him, and if the man hadn't put his hand to her chest Crowley was sure he'd have been greeted with two barrels of buckshot. The man nodded for him to go on. Crowley rubbed the flaking skin of the back of his hand against his chin for a moment, making a mental note; No using the whore word around the rabid bitch.

"Strike two. One more strike and you're out."

The threat sounded like more than just taking their business elsewhere and letting him find someone else to do the work. It distinctly sounded to him like, "And you're shit out of luck". Crowley decided to just hurry up with the last one before the smoothskins took anymore offense to him.

"The last one goes by the name of Dave. Supposedly started up his own whack-job community up north. Sound like a deal to you?"

The man considered him for a long moment before finishing off his drink and setting it on the table, glass upside down.

"Sounds like fun. Just have my money ready when I get back. Finish up Clover."

The blonde gave him one last heated glare before slugging down the rest of the drink and hurrying to keep up with the man, "Never without you, lover."

Crowley watched the pair disappear out the doors and gently touched his hand to his face, the dried cracked skin rubbing against itself with the sound he remembered that leaves on the ground during Autumn made when he'd walk on them. He may not like the way the world had turned out, but he was doing better than some. He was getting the best kind of pay; payback, served at the end of a dumb grunt and stupid bitch's barrel! Cheap, smoothskin labor! There wasn't anything like it in the world. The ghoul chuckled to himself as he finished up his drink and called for another.

* * *

He padded lightly through the ruins of the Subway station, Clover right at his side with her hand on the grip of her sawed-off. He'd wandered through this place so many times it was second nature for him to manuever around the rubble and debris, even as he set his PIPboy3000 to mark down the targets' names and their locations.

"Hey boss, I hear something," whispered Clover at his side. The Wanderer grunted softly and turned his gaze away from the PIPboy and paused to listen carefully for whatever Clover had heard. As his hand reached up slowly for the hilt of his katana, he thought momentarily of the man that had once wielded the blade that was no more than a pile of goo flushed out into space. He was certain he wouldn't mind the blade being put to good and formidable work. It was in the midst of his musings that he could pick out the sounds as well. Very soft, gentle and rhythmatic thuds of boots on concrete. More than one set of boots at that and all of them trying their best to remain quiet. A smirk slowly wound its way up his cold features and he gestured for Clover to step into the shadows. Rather than obeying him immediately, she wrapped her arms around his neck and drove her lips against his so forcefully their teeth actually clacked against one another, but she moved too quickly for him to realize the thought of backhanding her for her insubordination. Easing himself into the shadows with a frown in her direction, he drew his katana slowly and waited as he positioned himself by the side of the door.

He watched as the barrel of a chinese assault rifle slowly moved through the archway, and soon was followed by hands, arms, and the body that was cradling the weapon draped in a brown duster. Two more figures followed behind the first, the next armed with a combat shotgun and the last a plasma rifle. The loud BOOM! of Clover's sawed-off deafened everyone in the small entryway for a moment, but the Wanderer didn't suffer from the momentary stunned effect that the two regulators still standing had. His sword came down on the energy weapon wielder and the folded steel easily cut through one of his arms. The man's screaming had his companion turning to bring his weapon to bare on the Wanderer, but with an inhuman quickness he spun around the loud shotgun's firing muzzle and rushed him with a flying knee that broke the man's nose and snapped his head back.

He slashed as he came down, neatly eviscerating the man and removing him as a threat, before reversing his grip on the katana and driving the tip backwards as he similarly back-stepped. He felt the resistance of the last regulator as his blade punctured the man's stomach and professionally twisted the blade before withdrawing it from the flesh of his quickly dying opponent. Clover finished off the first regulator with her own sword, driving the tip into his chest to hasten his departure from their world. She looked over to him with a wide smile as she licked her lips. He thought of her insubordination for a moment and decided that he'd punish her later for it.

"Let's keep moving," he said as set the flat, unsharpened edge of his blade between his bicep and forearm, stripping the blood from the blade in that manner. For a moment, he lamented that his stealth suit no longer functioned after a particularly nasty fight with a group of supermutants, but was still glad of the protection it offered; especially when he cleaned his blade off in such a dramatic manner of finality. He had targets to rid the Wasteland of and caps to make.


	2. Just Business

They stepped through the doors of Rivet City sometime just after one in the afternoon, and both Wanderer and slave were regarded with steely looks of contempt by the security team as they walked past. The combat armor he wore over his stealth suit was very obviously of Rivet City make, with its definitive metallic blackness as opposed to Talon Company flat blackness and he'd caught numerous half-whispered accusations of the supposed theft. He almost smirked at them, but wasn't overly concerned.

"You'd figure that they'd be more concerned with Harkness being gone," he commented to Clover lightly as they passed up Flak who was minding the shop rather than Shrapnel today. The woman giggled softly and pulled his arm over her shoulders, humming a soft tune to herself. He looked down at her with a raised brow but chose not to comment as his free hand brushed back his raven black hair. He was getting more and more used to how unsettled she'd become after seeing the state he'd left Paradise Falls in. In the Wanderer's mind it was their own fault for drawing on him to begin with. They'd had a rather decent set up going, especially between himself and Pronto whenever the Wanderer would return with a stash of chinese assault rifles...

Then Ymir had to go and fuck things up by grabbing his property.

Unconsciously his arm tightened its hold around Clover's shoulders as he thought of the big man trying to force his hand down the woman's pants. Clover looked up to him with a raised brow, but he looked down at her with a chilling expression that had her shying back. As they were walking his hand shot out and caught James Hargrave by the collar of his shit. The boy snapped back and turned to throw a punch, but stopped short as he looked up at the Wanderer who was still looking at Clover.

"Time to pay up, boy."

"... I'm sorry, but... I haven't been able to get anything from any of the shops lately, mister," James stuttered, shuddering back as the man shifted his gaze down to him with a wide smirk. "... What?"

"Need something better than what you're swiping from the shops. Know anything about a Jeff Strayer? Might've come this way?" the Wanderer asked coldly as he set the rascal down. He'd met James when the boy had tried to pick his pocket, and only after threatening to put a live mine underneath his mother's pillow did he get the kid to learn respect, and even began to steal ammunition and small weapons from Flak N' Shrapnel's for him. He watched the boy's face carefully for any trace of a lie as he answered.

"Jeff Strayer... Nah, I've never heard of him. But... There's another guy here! He's names Ted. Ted Strayer, mom says he's a good for nothing, though," the boy hurried to reply after he thought for a moment. The Wanderer nodded and patted the kid's head before turning to Clover with a bare nod. The woman cocked an eyebrow before shrugging and gave the kid a few bottlecaps. James' stomach knotted as he took the caps, thinking of the mirelurk cake that he could buy with it. "Thanks!"

"You better have your tribute to me next time I pass through."

With a gentle shove to the back of the boy's head, the Wanderer sent him scurrying off like a rat. Clover settled back into his side with a grin and began to play with the fingers on his hand. They had a name now, and the Wanderer knew where all do nothings liked to hide here in Rivet City. With a soft pull to her shoulders away from the chem shop, 'A Quick Fix' the Wanderer began to guide her to the stairwell for the Hangar Deck. He knew that she wanted a little pick-me up but he remembered her little... indiscretion in the subway tunnel. If the regulators had found them due to her insistance of that silly little before battle ritual of hers... He'd probably have shattered her legs and left her there.

"No fix for you today, Clover girl," he whispered like a snake into her ear. She whimpered softly, but knew not to pull away from him. "I don't ever want you to disobey me again. When I say get to the shadows, I don't mean kiss me and then get to the shadows. Do-as-you-are-fucking-told. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered hugging one of her arms tightly around his waist for all the good it did through his armor. "I'm sorry, sir... Please don't be mad at me."

He almost felt a twinge of regret for reducing her to this, but he quickly shrugged it off. He didn't need to feel anything for these... people, if they could be called that. They were little better than animals up here. Sub-humans to his Vault dwelling eyes that were still adjusting to the real sunlight. As they made their way up the stairs that led to the staircase, his blue eyes sweapt over the marketplace and regarded the people milling about downstairs. Scurrying about with their short, pointless lives. Why his father ever wanted to come up here, he'd never know. Though he certainly intended to ask once he found him. Right now, he needed the money... and to calm down, he supposed. If he saw him now, if James were to suddenly brush shoulders with him...

_... Why the hell would you want to come up here, Dad? Why would you leave me to be in this disgusting, vermin infested world? What was so damn important to you that you HAD to leave me behind, leave our lives behind? And why would you leave me down there with that psychotic fuck?_

He brushed those thoughts away with a quick effort of will and pushed through the doorway. He instead chose to focus on exactly how he was going to deal with Mr Strayer without having a gun fight with the entire Rivet City Security team.

* * *

Ted Strayer sat in the common room, holding the inhaler of Jet tightly in his hands which shook violently. He wanted to take the hit so badly, but... there were people watching. They were always watching. His eyes looked up to scan the room with paranoia, as if someone were suddenly going to appear and snatch the inhaler away. He jolted in his spot on his bed as he noticed there was a woman across from him on another bed. Her messy blonde Mohawk in the style of a mane hung across one of her eyes, and she was wearing a long pink dress. What drew his attention the most was that she was staring intently at his inhaler of Jet. The young man slowly put the inhaler in one of the pockets of his overalls.

"You don't have to be like that," she giggled softly, her eyes snapping up to his as her lips curled upwards, resting her hands one one knee as she drew it up, resting her sandal like shoe on the edge of the bed. "We could share, y'know? But this is a horrible place for Jet. It's sooo much better up on the flight deck."

Strayer was ready to leave, to get away from the woman and her disturbing smile. But... she looked inviting, especially as she ran her other hand up her extended leg.

"So much better up there," she mused quietly, almost as if to herself as her eyes slid closed and she leaned her head back against the wall behind her. "With the waves lapping against the hull... the breeze... Oh god the breeze as it tickles your face..."

Ted Strayer watched as her hand climbed dangerously up her thigh.

"You... you wanna come look at the waves with me?" he asked nervously, a shaking smile on his features. The woman's eyes slowly opened and she smiled as her tongue slowly moved along her lower lip as if to moisten it. "I mean..."

"I don't have any caps... but I can make it worth your while."

Ted's fingers tightened around the inhaler in his pocket and a lustful grin covered his features as he nodded slowly.

The woman's hands were tangled in his hair as she tugged him against her, lips working against his own mouth furiously. Then they were running down his shoulders, roaming his entire young body and he shook from the forceful grip of the woman, the hunger in her eyes and the erratic nature of her breath. He hadn't even had a chance to pull the inhaler out yet! He felt her hand dip into his pocket and her soft smile against his lips made him grin as well. Looks like she was going to take care of that little detail herself. He gasped as her fingers proceeded a little further in his pocket, pressing against him with the tips of her fingers.

A gun cocking behind his head suddenly froze his muscles, despite the fact that the woman kept kissing him. His eyes went wide as she withdrew her hand, and he felt the key his father had given him come out with it. She smiled mischievously at him and patted the side of his face before deftly stepping out from between him and the railing that they'd pressed themselves hazardously against.

His eyes slowly lifted to the moon, the pale orb hanging in the sky in such a detached manner that he wanted to curse it. He wanted to scream his damning curses up to it. Nothing escaped his throat but a pathetic whimper though.

"If it makes you feel better," an insanely cold voice behind him reached his ears, and from the tone he could almost imagine the look of laziness spread across the man's features. As if he were talking about a chore that needed doing. "It's just business."

He barely managed to catch the sound of the weapon firing, before flashed into blackness. Ted Strayer was dead before he fell over the railing, and long before he ever hit the dark waters below.


	3. Compliance

**I'd like to start this off by saying thanks to my first reviewer, empty-walls. I like Clover myself and despite the fact I generally play a more good aligned character in the game I decided that I wanted to do a run through on one sonuvabitch who wasn't exactly **_**evil**_** but just didn't view your typical wastelander as even a person. And there is nowhere **_**near**_** enough Clover on this site =P. Glad you enjoyed the story.**

**On a further note, sorry about the delay. Work's been very crazy before Thanksgiving and our two week shutdown coming up in December so they've been really cracking the whip.**

* * *

He stared down at the key in his hand as they made their way across the bridge of Rivet City. He had a feeling that Mister Crowley wasn't looking for only revenge, but it had something to do with this key. Revenge was there for sure, but the ghoul's need for a memento didn't quite add up. When someone wanted proof that a target had been taken out, they usually wanted a finger or an ear. Sometimes an odd request like an eyeball. But... a trinket? How would the man know he didn't just pick up some junk and pass it along?

"Something bothering you, sir?" asked Clover, and when he looked over at her he could tell she was having one of her more lucid moments. He shrugged softly and slipped the key into one of the many pouches that lined his armor. She took the dismissal for what it was and offered a simple and soft sigh. He snapped his eyes over to her for a moment before lifting up his Pip-Boy and opening up the map section. The green display lit up before his face as he slowly began to set the coordinates for Dukov's Place, marking it with a flashing blip.

"We'll take Dukov next," he said coolly, dismissing her question with the declaration of their next target. "And then we're heading to Megaton for a little downtime while I decide on which target we hit next. I need to know if dealing with him will cause you any problems considering his tastes."

"Sir?"

He stopped and caught her by the arm, turning her to face him as he drew close to her face, "Will you have an episode if you find him 'whoring it up' as Crowley suggested he might be?"

Clover was quiet for a long moment and he forced her to meet his cold eyes. He needed to know that she wouldn't be a liability, needed to know she wouldn't put his contract in jeopardy. If there was anything he prided himself on over these wasteland savages it was his ability to perform a contract once taken to the letter. And even if she was his companion of sorts for the time being, she still fell in the category of being little more than another one of the animals in his mind. As long as she remained useful, he'd keep her on his leash; fed, clothed and taken care of. But if she couldn't handle this simple contract, the Wasteland would have a new corpse decorating the blasted landscape.

"I promise I won't do anything that would make you unhappy, sir," she nearly whispered. His sharp hearing caught her words though and he nodded softly, letting her grip his hand and pull it up to rest his palm against her face. He watched as she nuzzled into the smooth material of his stealth suit like some kind of twisted cat. "Just don't leave me behind."

He ran his hand down the side of her face, for a moment taking enjoyment from the look of contentment across her face. He suddenly gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb, bringing her face up to look at him. He leaned in close and touched his nose to hers, whispering in return, "I would never leave you behind while you still breath."

She shuddered softly at the double meaning hidden beneath his cold words. He pulled his hand away from her face and they set off on their way. They had an appointment to keep, and he wanted to be on his way to Megaton before sunrise.

* * *

Rifle gripped in his hands, his booted foot collided with the door of the fortified ruin that served as Dukov's home. He heard muffled shouts from inside as he rushed through the door and Clover trailed close behind him. Throwing himself behind the cover of one of two pillars that marked the entryway, he managed to avoid a spray of bullets that were sent ricocheting off of the ancient stone and ferrocrete. His adrenaline was pumping and he grinned as he looked over to Clover as she blind fired two rounds off with her sawed-off.

"Aim straight you damn pansy!" she screamed over another volley, a laugh intermixing with her words. "You might actually hit something vital!"

The Wanderer grinned as she pulled some of the fire off of him, giving him just long enough to stick his head out and sight a man standing up on a balcony dumping his clip on Clover's position from a 10mm SMG. A long grin spread up his features as he brought the man's extended arm into his cross-hairs and pulled the trigger of his rifle. A quick splatter of holes worked their way up Dukov's arm, a red mist exploding in the air behind it. The man fell to the ground with a scream and the Wanderer slowly stood from his cover. He kept his rifle ready but not up to avoid cutting off his peripheral. Clover slowly walked to his side, chuckling to herself as she reloaded her shotgun.

They slowly made their way up the stairs, and he was able to pick out the sounds of whimpering, one distinctly male but two others softer and lighter. Dukov was indeed having fun in his little haven in the wastes. As they crested the stairs, he caught sight of Dukov curled up against the railing, holding his injured arm tight to his chest. He was dressed in loose fitting silk clothing which caused the Wanderer to raise an eyebrow. Two women were curled up against the wall across from him.

"Clover, go deal with them," he ordered lazily, barely glancing in her direction. It was long enough to notice the look of shock that crossed her face, but she dutifully moved to the women. He made his way to the injured man and knelt in front of him, listening to him curse and spit in some other language. It sounded Russian, but he couldn't be sure. They'd only ever taught red-blooded American English in the Vault. He calmly drew his pistol and pointed it right at Dukov's head. "I want to ask you a question. How you answer depends on how painful I make this. Nod if you understand me."

The man looked up long enough to spit on the Wanderer's face. He recoiled in disgust momentarily before setting the barrel of his pistol against Dukov's knee and quickly pulled the trigger. The pop was instantly followed by a blood curdling scream as the bullet tore through the bone and sinew of the man's flesh. He grabbed the man by his thinning hair and slammed it back against the railing just as the whimpering of the two others were cut short with the surgical blasts of Clover's barrels.

"There are things much worse than death," he hissed as he leaned into the man's face, staring into his eyes. He set the barrel of his pistol flat against the man's crotch and a deep snarl settled itself over his features. "Now... tell me everything you know about a ghoul named Crowley."

* * *

**And that's the end of this chapter. Realized I haven't exactly been a very communicative author. Apologies for that, I'm shy ;) Anyways, hopefully I'll have the next chapter up sometime next weekend after the holidays. PS, I do realize that the chapters are rather short. Reason being: I'm testing the waters for this particular pair of characters in writing, I'm way out of shape in my writing aaaaaand this is a story based around a specific quest. I'm not adding much of the between times as they travel to and from their objectives. I think the next chapter might be a break, just showing how the Wanderer is in his home in Megaton and what they do in their downtime before heading to their next target. So, in the interest of being more interactive with my readers;**

**Tenpenny or Dave next? It's like a fatal game of eenie-meenie-miney mo!**


	4. Preparation

**A/N: Okay dokay... I feel like a putz. After doing a little more research via both the game and the Vault Wiki, I have made the shameful discovery that I got Crowley's background wrong. He is not a pre-war ghoul. I'll be going back at some point and correcting this. _ Yeeeeah. It happens.**

* * *

Clover stretched languidly as her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was still blurry from sleep, and she felt content in just laying in bed that smelled of her master. His scent, like everything else about him, overpowered her own but it didn't stink either. It just... was an encompassing thing. It suited him. Slowly lifting her head from the ratty pillow, she scratched the side of her head softly and looked around the bedroom. As usual, her master was not in when she awoke. She expected that she would find him downstairs at the picnic table that occupied the center of the main room with his weapons disassembled in front of him as he cleaned them. The mongrel he had in the home would very likely be laying at his feet. She could get out of bed and see if he needed anything.

Or she could just lay in bed for a bit. When she'd been the property of... that disgusting man- she couldn't even bring herself to think his name anymore- she'd be punished for laying in bed and doing nothing. If she was in bed it was for a purpose. But with her new Master... If she was in bed, and they had nothing to do, she wasn't required to get out of it. She could lay in bed all day. She remembered the first time she'd been in bed with him when they'd gone to sleep and had woken up to find him gone. After descending into a panic and racing down the stairs, she'd been reprimanded for disturbing him while he cleaned his guns. But otherwise... nothing. He'd even told her to go back to bed if she wanted or stay downstairs, even go out into Megaton and get something to eat. Just so long as she didn't disturb him.

Or the dog.

Clover could admit she felt a little jealousy over the dog. It often received more affection from their shared master than she did, but she knew better than to even dream of pulling the shit she had with Crimson when it came to that dog. He actually liked it almost as much as he liked his guns and sword. With a sigh as her stomach growled, she rose from bed and again rubbed the closely shaven sides of her head. A smile struck her as she took joy in the fact that while the Wanderer was her master, she'd never go hungry again.

She pulled her long pink dress from the filing cabinet drawer that had been given to her and pulled it over her head before making her way from the bedroom. She grabbed a bottle of ice cold nuka-cola from the machine and pressed the frosted glass against the side of her neck. The coldness was something she'd never experienced in her entire life until her master had purchased her, and as it had ever since she'd first felt it the bottle sent a sharp shiver up her spine. She walked down the stairs as goosebumps worked their way across her skin. And just as she had predicted, there was her master working diligently over his arsenal- still in his armor. The only time she saw him strip the armor and suit from his body were the times he decided to bathe and when he slept in his home in Megaton. Those few times she saw him out of his gear felt like sacrilege for her to gaze upon him.

But it was always back on when she woke up in the morning and he never bathed long. It was as if the man was afraid of being caught without the armor.

She glanced over to the side and caught sight of the helmet he'd also been working on designing: it was mde from strips of black combat armor hallowed down to almost resemble a skull. The angled, shaped metal of the eyes were what disturbed her the most about the whole affair. She knew that once he wore it the mask could be lifted while keeping the rest of his head protected. Parts of the mask were pock marked where he'd field tested it on a stump, firing round after round at it. It had been deemed a 'work in progress'.

As she stepped off the stairs, his eyes drifted over towards her lazily. Most felt frozen to their spots when his ice blue eyes locked on them, but Clover felt grounded. He was her constant now here in the Wastes. He was her reason for being. And he allowed her to inflict the pain she felt everyday on others when it served him. His only requirement was obey. He didn't even force her to be his... Toy.

"Clover?" his voice brought her back to reality, and from the look on his face it was not the first time he'd said her name; lips pursed and one dark brow raised minisculy. She stood at attention sharply and out of the corner of her eye she caught the dog staring at her and panting. If she didn't know better, she would say it was grinning at her for acting more like a dog than it ever did. Her master nodded softly and set out a handful of caps on the table out of the area he was working on. "I want you to go and get us some food from the Brass Lantern. No alcohol or water. Wadsworth has collected enough moisture for a few more bottles for each of us and Dogmeat... Stop by the good Doctor as well and get yourself a present. You obeyed me with those women last night, so you deserve a treat."

A smile spread across her features as she moved to the man and ignored the caps he'd set aside for her, instead leaning over him and gently pressed her lips to his temple. The man tensed beneath her but otherwise he didn't move. He was silent as she pulled away, but he made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. Even with that, she smiled at him as she took the caps and left.

The Wanderer watched the blonde leave with a soft shake of his head, a frown tugging at his features. He'd bought her because she was supposed to be a nasty piece of work- which on most occasions when she had someone in front of her sawed-off she was- but these 'tender' moments she insisted on trying to force upon him? They were grating on his nerves severely. He reached down to pat Dogmeat on the head with a soft shake of his head.

"Sometimes I wonder which of you two is more intelligent," he said thoughtfully, and the dog whined softly at his words. A small smile touched his features. "She'll be back with the food."

"Sir, if I may comment-"

"You may not!" the Wanderer snapped in the direction of the floating Mr Handy, Wadsworth his personal butler. The robot was convinced he wanted to hear advice concerning the woman, and made itself vocal on far too many occasions. "Now go make the bed. I'm sure she left it a disaster again."

"Very good, sir!" the robot called as it floated upwards. He caught some half-vocalized snide comment come floating back down the stairs and shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how creatures and even robotic entities on the surface held some sort of misplaced sense of superiority. The robot should have calculated in the fact that the only reason he kept the thing functional was its useful ability to collect the moisture from the air and dispense purified water.

Reassembling his weapons, the Wanderer turned to examining his sword. Carefully running his fingers along the blade, he examined the weapon for any burrs or jags. He began to muse on the man that had fought with the fine weapon, a warrior of an age long past trapped in a world he had not understood and could scarcely comprehend. One that the Wanderer himself had been trapped in and had as little understanding of as the foreigner. And yet with this sword, the man had fought his way to the control room of that alien ship, cutting down their captors with all the elegance and grace of an age that no longer existed.

And then the captain of that horrendous crew had taken aim with that deadly and strange energy pistol of his, reducing the samurai Toshiro to nothing but a puddle of goop. The Wanderer would not let such a fine weapon, an instrument of one of the finest warriors that he'd ever seen go to waste. He remembered gutting the captain with this very same sword, the only homage he could pay to the man that had wielded it.

Satisfied with his inspection the Wanderer sheathed the sword on his back and turned his attention to the papers sitting off to the side.

"Now, let's see what we're working with" he muttered to Dogmeat, who only licked his jowls, as he began to inspect the blueprints of what had once been a pre-War luxury hotel. As his eyes roamed over the blueprints he sucked his tongue against his teeth. They would be heavily outdated he knew and would require further reconnaissance on his part in order to be updated. But for right now, it was as good as anything available to begin his planning. Even before Alistair Tenpenny, with all of his resources, rebuilt, reinforced, and garrisoned the former hotel, it was designed to provide a terrible sort of nuisance to anyone planning to attack it. Perhaps due to Pre-War America's obsession with keeping the Chinese at bay, or maybe simply due to an architect's whims. In either case, it was one hellacious firefight he was going to find himself in. Shifting aside one of the many sheets of paper, he began looking at the exterior designs when he noticed something... A balcony up in the penthouse.

"... And would one of the richest men in the Capital Wasteland utilize such a thing?" he wondered aloud, scratching the area behind Dogmeat's ears. This was something else he'd have to look into. If this Alistair Tenpenny did use that balcony of his, all it would take was a single .308 round, sniper rifle and a decent enough firing point. A smile broke his features, long and slow as he further muttered to the dog, "Or Clover could always draw him out to the balcony. She's so good at manipulating the other sex, hmm?"

He rose one hand to his chin and rested it against his palm as his brows knit in concentration. He'd save Tenpenny for last, he decided to give himself more time to figure out how to work the angles against the man and his fortress. He'd deal with Dave first. This man he had the least amount of information on, beyond running his own little 'whack-a-doo' community up north. He frowned softly and began to rub his chin. This could mean he'd either be far more secure than Tenpenny- though that was unlikely- or he'd simply have fanatic followers as opposed to paid ones. The Wanderer preferred fighters and guards that were paid as opposed to the ones that actually believed in what they fought for.

That just led to more troublesome folks like the Regulators that tried to hound his every step out in the Wastes. Folding up the blueprints, he set them in one of the shelves by the stairs and decided to simply wait for Clover to return with their food before beginning to prepare for what would likely be a long journey.

* * *

**Since I said I'd get a chapter up after the holiday I got one up ( Even if I didn't wait for folks to choose who gets hit next =P) Hope ya'll enjoy it.**


	5. It won't Tickle

A soft breeze blew over the broken desert of the Capital Wasteland, the warm wind offering only the barest of reliefs from the burning orb that hung scorching overhead. Dust was kicked up with the wind, rustling along the ground in heavy particles. Their footsteps otherwise were the only sounds that came at their ears. The Wanderer had a deep frown on his face, covered by the mask of his custom helmet. He'd finally decided to give it a true field test since it had been some time since he'd journeyed out of the civilized lands of the southern Capital Wasteland. As he looked over his shoulder during one of his quick sweeps of the land, he caught sight of the faraway ruins of D.C. on the horizon. From out here it seemed... peaceful. Like when he'd first seen it from afar, before his hopeful aspirations had been cast aside of civilization thriving out here in the wastes, it almost appeared like there could be people still milling about those ancient, broken buildings. But now he knew the awful truth.

Nothing survived out here unless it was meaner and nastier than whatever it came across. He'd learned first hand as he'd watched a decent man get shot multiple times in the back in a saloon full of people, that everyone was on their own out here. With some effort, the Wanderer forced his eyes forward and continued on his steady march north-northeast.

Clover walked silently at his side, not even humming as she was apt to do in the south. This was foreign territory for her. The wildest place he'd ever taken her was into the D.C. Ruins where noise was constant- buildings settling still from the massive Terra-forming their ancestors had forced upon the land. Echoes of gun fire causing the ear to tingle, or distant felt vibrations from explosions beneath their feet. D.C. was a war zone on a good day and hell on another.

Out here, was another kind of hell. One of an extreme sense of being alone. A sensation that was not altered by the silent companionship of her master.

The Wanderer did not comment as she drew a little closer to him while they walked ever northwards. He did not comment on the fact that her hands slightly shook while clutching her sawed-off. The truth was, being this far away from people made him uneasy as well. It was less likely for them to encounter humans this far out, but the beasts of the wastes would be many. Humans he could deal with. Being the son of a doctor, he knew all the vulnerable parts of the human body; Where a shot would be fatal or crippling, a cut would cause immeasurable pain or simply kill. With the beasts that roamed the wastes though...

He understood that biology remained the same. A heart stopping was as fatal for a human as it was a molerat, but it was the shell that contained the vital organ that needed to be removed that differed between the two and caused him difficulty. It made him nervous and if there was any feeling he disliked in the world it was nervousness. It caused erratic and nonsensical behavior. He forced his hands still on the black rifle in his hands.

They'd passed Cantebury Commons nearly an hour ago and it was with a frown that the Wanderer looked down at his Pipboy, bringing up the map function after a few presses of the buttons on the device. He had a general location marked for the area around where he _should_ find Dave's community, but other than that he'd just have to keep his eyes peeled. The woman at his side froze suddenly next to him as he was turning his Pipboy off, and when he looked over at her the expression on her face puzzled him. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging limply open.

The Wanderer tilted his head and followed her line of sight... and felt his heart drop into his feet. He quickly pulled the woman down and they both lay on the ground, while the Wanderer slowly brought his rifle up and looked down the scope from his prone position.

Nearly fifty feet ahead was a horror straight out of a psychopath's nightmare. Scales covered its hide and spikes ran down along its spine. An evil draconic head slowly swayed side to side as it looked over the landscape, before lifting its snout into the air as if sniffing. For a brief paranoid moment, he worried it could smell the terrified sweat that had broken out over his body. Two horns curled along either side of its face, framing the evil eyes that slowly and methodically roamed around the wastes. But what drew his attention the most were the evil, forearm long claws extending from each of its fingers. Like an ancient savage God, the thing demanded instant fear, respect, awe and worship.

"What," he breathed out from between clenched teeth to Clover, "is that thing?"

The woman only whimpered.

The small sounds they made seemed to have attracted its attention as its head slowly turned in their direction. A snarl more befitting a medieval work of terrible art curled along its features. That small threatening gesture was all the cue that the Wanderer needed.

He squeezed the trigger.

His clip emptied out into the creature's face in a series of rapid, muffled shots and he leapt to his feet, quickly discarding the clip and jamming in another. He looked up at where the creature had been, but his smirk of triumph had morphed into a look of horror beneath his mask. The creature was holding its face and roaring in pain... but it only looked enraged. He was a fly that had stung a god... and now that god was ready to bring judgement upon him.

"Run," he barely had the breath to command Clover. She didn't move. She lay there and shook. A snarl broke over his features as he snatched her by the collar of her combat armor, dragging her from the ground. "Run you idiot! Unless you want to make me a liar!"

His rage broke Clover from her stupor as a scream erupted from her throat, and the Wanderer was surprised to find himself having a hard time keeping up. He turned long enough to fire a few more round from his rifle from the hip at the creature that was now running along after them, those deadly claws held out and ready at its sides.

* * *

"... And how much are you paying?"

The ghoul smiled with his broken features across the table at the leader of the four men. Their combat armor was in a black, night assault camouflage pattern but for a single white symbol emblazoned on the left sides of their breastplates. The leader of the band wore a weather beaten green bandanna folded across his forehead, hispanic features rugged and lined with a few scars from fights he'd been in. On his back was a Chinese Assault Rifle, and the weapon looked meticulously maintained.

"How much are you asking? I mean really... you're already after the man. I'd just like a retrieval from what you pick off him," Crowley answered with his rough voice lit with joy. "You do pick things off of people you're hired to take out, don't you? Sometimes that's as good as the commission, wouldn't you agree?"

The leader of the Talons chuckled and nodded, kicking his feet up on the table in the 9th Circle, glancing back at his cronies. All of them looked as hardened as the first; One, a tall black man was carefully wiping down his combat shotgun with a hard, thoughtful look in his eyes. He looked over at the boss as he felt the gaze on him and shrugged while offering, "He's got a point. This guy pissed off Burke bad and the man does pay well. But I'm not one to turn my nose up at being subcontracted on the same target. More caps, right?"

The leader, Jose Fenantez, looked over at the twins Mark and Mike whose only distinguishing feature between the two was Mike had a small scar on his chin. They were eagerly nodding.

"I'm with Darius," said Mike softly in his charming voice that had won over a few of the women in Rivet City on a few occasions.

His brother, Mark, finished the sentence with a nearly identical voice to Mike, "More caps, more women."

Jose nodded slowly and looked to the final member of the group. Dark hair hung loosely in front of this one's face, hiding dark eyes that he knew would betray no emotion. They couldn't pronounce his given name so had just taken to calling him Ling. "What about you?

Ling looked up through his hair, revealing heavy oriental features and all different sorts of knives lining his armor, while continuing to spin his chinese sword over and over with the tip pointed in the ground while he leaned forward in his chair, "As long as I get that blade of his. I've heard it's somethin' special. The zombie can keep anything else he wants."

"Zombie?" snapped Crowley, leaping to his feet and knocking the chair over in the process. "Why you little ass-"

All of the Talon mercs looked over at him- notably except for Ling who kept spinning his sword- with their brows lowered, hands dropping to their sidearms. Crowley wisely lost his aggressive pose and cleared his throat.

"You want your keys?" tutted Jose softly, a smirk on his face as he polished off his beer. He belched softly into his hand before continuing, "Fine, we'll do it. We'll discuss the price once we _have_ the keys though. Now... you said he'd be heading for Tenpenny Tower?"

* * *

The Wanderer stared down at the corpse at his feet, shaking hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Clover knelt on the ground a few feet away, shaking as she tried to line up the syringe needle with her vein. He'd lucked out. His first spray of bullets had taken one of the evil creature's eyes, and as it chased them he'd blinded the other with hip fire.

"... Let's hurry up before karma decides to throw anything else our way."

**Wrote this chapter while listening to Tool - Lateralus. I know, I know. Doesn't quite fit for the whole of it but I'll be damned if parts of the song didn't fit parts of the story. I'd like to throw out there that the very beginning rift of the song came on while I was describing the first sight of the Deathclaw.**


	6. Down with the Old, up with the New

Bob stood in front of the gates to the Republic with an extremely foul look on his face. He just couldn't understand the President. Why shouldn't they begin stockpiling weapons against the poor, uneducated Wastelanders that lingered just outside of their borders? Those ignorant savages could be massing just out of sight even now, jealous of the beacon of civilization the Republic provided in this cold, hard and unforgiving world! But the President refused- downright refused!- to see the wisdom in his words.

Bob sighed heavily while looking up to the sky after making sure that no one was about. At least things would be different when he took over. And he WOULD take over. These people here, his family, fellow members of the Republic... They didn't know what they want, but needed to be told what to do to survive. And every time he looked up to the sky, vast and endless, he was convinced of it ever more. They were small, tiny compared to everything else in this world which was filled with numerous things waiting to kill them in a heartbeat.

He brought his mind back to the present and looked out over the wastes outside of the compound's fences... And started when he saw two figures moving slow and tiredly beneath the sun that had begun its descent in the west. Shouldering his rifle, he traced their movements down his iron sights. At his movement though, the figures ceased their march. A mild sweat began across the young man's brow.

God... they're going to attack! The wastelanders have begun their invasion of the Republic!

"Bob?"

The soft voice behind him caused him to jump with a start, and he quickly looked over his shoulder at his little sister, Rachael. He offered her a scowl and jerked his head in the direction of the school.

"Go on! You need to go!" he snapped at the girl, before looking back at the figures. They were closer now, and a deep frown creased his features. How had they gotten closer? Did they see him look away? His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to drive the invaders away when another voice broke through his aim.

"Bob, what are you doing?! Those could be merchants," the voice that came this time was not from a person he'd feel the slightest bit sorry to place in front of him in this coming invasion. It was loud and reprimanding. The voice of the President. His father, Dave. The man stepped in front of him and grabbed the rifle barrel, forcing it upwards. "Put that gun away this instant, Bob! You take Rachael to the school, and get back here quickly. If they aren't friendlies, we'll deal with them together. But don't you dare try and fire the first shot! We are a civilized Republic! Not communists." Bob fought to suppress the snarl that threatened to come to his face as Dave leaned in close. "You're not a communist, are you Bob?"

"... No, Mr. President," he responded hotly, slinging his rifle over his back as Dave finally released his grip on the gun. He knelt beside Rachael and picked her up quickly, looking her in the eye as he scolded her harshly, "And you need to listen to the second-in-command of the Republic's military, little one! This could be dangerous."

Dave watched Bob carry Rachael away with a shake of his head. The nerve of that boy! By God, he was still the President of the Republic and Bob wasn't going to be taking over any time soon if he had anything to say about it... With another brief shake of his head, he turned and pulled his own rifle, Ol' Painless from his back and held it in a casual non-threatening manner as the two figures continued their march. They reached the edge of the compound before the shadows had grown too long, and Bob was waiting at his side long before then.

"Halt there, visitors," he called over to the two, a slight frown tickling his features. He didn't like the look of them but knew that the only way to teach these tribals of civility was to display it first. "You stand before the Republic of Dave. State your business or be _on_ about your business."

The woman's eyebrows rose softly and she slowly mouthed the name of his great nation with surprise clearly painted across her features. The other one though... Dave could only see his eyes from the masked helmet he wore, and he certainly didn't like that look in his chilling blue eyes. They were just too... calm. Analytical. Silence stretched between the two small groups for a long moment, before the male walked right up to the fence. Dave's grip on his rifle tightened at the approach. The man was... large. Not the largest he'd ever seen, but he was certainly muscled beneath that black armor and suit of his and would draw attention wherever he went.

"Greetings from the Wasteland. I have been sent here as an Ambassador to recognize the Republic of Dave's sovereign status of this area and of the surrounding area," the man called, and Dave felt his breath hitch softly. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at Bob, who stood quite slack-jawed behind him, before looking back to the Ambassador. "May we come in?"

"OF...," Dave quickly cleared his throat to control his excitement, gesturing to Bob to open the gate. Of course the man had an analytical look in his eyes. All politicians had to have those eyes! "Of course, Ambassador. But... who is your companion?"

"She is my armed escort," the man answered simply, and Dave accepted that reasoning, before looking pointedly at his son who had yet to move. Bob, upon catching the stare, grudgingly moved to the gate and unlocked it, allowing the two entrance. "Please, take a tour of our great Republic before we convene to my office."

They sat in Dave's home an hour later, after a small tour of the compound and enlightening their guests on his numerous achievements, where the Ambassador sat in a chair across from Dave's desk. Bob had assumed a protective stance behind Dave, as had the Ambassador's armed escort.

"Firstly, I would like to thank you Ambassador for making the trip to recognize our status as an official Sovereign-Nation with a small gesture of good will," Dave said excitedly, before pausing. What was he supposed to give them...? Damn! He hadn't thought that far ahead. He rested his hands in his lap and something in his pocket dug into the palm of his hand and the top of his thigh as he did so. He paused, before the brilliant idea quickly took hold. He reached into the pocket and withdrew the old key that he'd not needed in _years_ and passed it to Bob with a slight gesture. "Please, take this. It is a relic from my time out in the Wasteland before my presidency. It is a dear and sentimental item to me."

The Ambassador, who had lifted his mask as they entered the office stared at the key for a long moment. A long smile slowly painted itself across his features as he clenched his hand around the key and offered Dave a small nod.

"Thank you, Mr. President," the Ambassador said with sincere gratitude. Dave swelled with pride at outwitting the dim tribal into thinking the key was actually WORTH anything. "I must say that as the representative of the Wastelands, I am quite impressed with what you have done with your great nation. My superiors will be even more thrilled to learn of your... gesture."

"So... what would the Ambassador of the Wasteland like to discuss?"

The man before Dave slowly rose, and the President frowned softly as that cold look again entered the man's eyes.

"The immediate reclamation of your Republic by the Wasteland. It has been recognized for its sovereignty and threat it presents to the purity of the Wastes."

Dave sat frozen in his chair. What... had the man just said? Were his ears hearing him right?

Bob, who from the beginning had been suspicious of the 'Ambassador', was moving faster than Dave, and began to draw his rifle, but the Ambassador's hands were faster as he swiftly brought the pair of 10mm pistols at holstered at his sides out and opened fire into his son's chest. The gunfire snapped Dave out of his stupor, and he threw himself to the ground beneath his desk and drew a .32 pistol from his belt. The man took a steadying breath and was ready to leap up to go down in a blaze of glory... when he felt a gun barrel press down against his temple. With shaking hands, he dropped his gun and whispered, "Please..."

The Wanderer squeezed the trigger on the pathetic man with cold finality in his eyes. Beneath his breath he whispered softly, "And so ends the reign of the President of the Republic."

In the back of his mind, there was a stirring of something, as if shadowy wings of ice were coming unfurled and hissing, _Danger!_ It was a feeling he'd experienced often since coming out into the Wasteland, and one he'd learned to listen to after the first moments he'd felt it. The Presence, as he'd come to call it, seemed to at least have his best interests of survival in mind. And the one time he hadn't listened to it, Dogmeat had lost one of his legs to a Yao Guai.

His gun snapped up to the doorway to focus upon the woman that stood there, her hands shakily clutching a pistol. He heard Clover growl from behind him and there was no doubt in his mind that she was aiming her sawed-off at the new threat. A deep frown settled over the Wanderer's features from behind his mask and he stood slowly from the top of the desk, his trained hand not twitching in the slightest at the woman while he observed her with cold eyes.

She was near hyperventilating, and alternated her eyes between him and the blonde slave that stood a few feet from him. Her pistol however, never moved from its steady aim right at him. The silence dragged on between the three for several long heartbeats, before she finally broke the silence as she glanced down at the two corpses of her family.

"You... you killed my husband," she breathed, and a soft sob shook through her. "You killed my son! Why did you kill them, you sonnuva bitch?!"

"Business, mostly," the Wanderer answered with a shrug, moving slowly to step off of the desk. He cast a glance at the pool of blood slowly seeping out from beneath the desk and sticking to his boots. "But also to prevent this stain on human history to continue. The children that live here were going to be reduced to nothing more than simple dullards if he was allowed to continue this Republic nonsensical education of theirs. I mean, honestly. 'As a baby, his poop didn't even stink'? Do you believe that?"

"Of course not!" the woman snapped through her tears, shaking her head vehemently while somehow never taking her eyes off of him. It was quite an impressive feat he noted distantly. "But he kept them safe! Bob kept them safe! We were protected, and _alive_ because of his nonsensical bullshit!"

The Wanderer stared at her for a long moment while inclining his head softly. He could accept that. It was probably the truth.

"So... what do you believe?" he asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else as they stared one another down.

"I was raised out there in the Wastes," replied the woman after considering him for a long moment, eyebrows turning further downwards. A sneer had planted itself firmly across her hard features that could only be known by one born and bred in the Capital Wasteland. "My father ran one of the caravans, years ago. It was where I met Dave. And he was a far better person than his father with the 'Kingdom' he ran here. So yes, I followed him. Yes, I tolerated his desire for a Second Wife. And yes, I put up with his brainwashing bullshit because it kept our family safe!"

"It made your family ignorant," he said after a moment, gesturing with his second pistol towards the bodies. "But now what was making your family ignorant is gone. Not what made them safe. What made them safe still rest in their hands. Take the guns... and do better for your children than just forcing them to accept whatever 'truths' they're force-fed. You have a school here, so properly educate them. Teach them things truly worth knowing; survival skills, math, reading and writing. But why continue these farces that further devolve this wasteland into nothing more than a hovel for poverty and ignorance? Couldn't you lead better? And as the First Lady, doesn't that make you the leader of the Republic with both the President and his second-in-command dead?"

The woman's pistol dropped half a millimeter as shock blew across her face, but it snapped back up in an instant as she snarled, "You come in here and commit murder, then try to convince me it was for the best?!"

"It's a far cry better than another ghost town laying out here in the wastes for Raiders to try and settle, don't you think? What use would the Capital Wasteland have for another Grayditch, hmm?"

Her snarl melted away as she seemed to take in his words for a long moment. He knew the truth behind Grayditch, but not many others did. They only received the barebones of 'Grayditch going dark' by Three Dog. He was hoping he could turn that barebones into an advantage with the woman. And after all, why not let her think he'd been behind it? He slowly watched her face warp into an expression of horror as her one of her hands covered her mouth and though the pistol remained trained on him, the barrel shook violently.

"Oh God," her barely audible voice carried over to him, muffled as it was by his helmet. "You... you're a..."

A deep, purring chuckle rumbled out of his chest while he shook his head. "I would truly suggest lowering your firearm. Without you, what would be left to lead the Republic...? The second wife, or the children?"

The woman looked down, though the pistol remained pointed at him. He watched as she visibly fought to control her breathing and forced herself to become composed. It was almost... beautiful to watch. He stood and observed as something took over and changed inside of this woman, so much so that it was causing a metamorphosis on her appearance. Shoulders, which appeared to be more accustomed to a sag straightened, and the face which was stricken by grief took on a stoic and proud lift of the chin, though the tear tracks were still clearly visible and a few more lingered yet unspilled in her eyes. Very slowly, very deliberately she lowered her pistol and seemed to straighten her back even more as she looked him in the eye and said a few short words that threatened to cause a genuine smile to crease his features.

"This is not the Republic. This... is the Democracy," she said with such a firm tone of voice that brooked no questions he wouldn't have offered in any case. "Now leave. Leave before the crime you committed against the Republic is brought to Justice in the Democracy."

The Wanderer lowered his pistol as well and nodded once in a gesture of peace, before looking to Clover.

"We're done here."

The Wanderer looked back on the... Democracy of Rosie for a long moment, and felt an uncertain degree of pride perhaps? Maybe even that terrible, deceptive, and fragile thing called hope. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was a pleasant feeling that had settled into his chest, comforting after months of living with the cold emptiness he'd begun to grow so accustomed to.

Perhaps they would be better off with Dave gone, no longer filling their heads with his Propoganda and lies?

_Or maybe,_ that cold thing that had taken residence somewhere inside of his head whispered with a feather light brush against his mind that left him cold, _she will lead them to ruin._

He frowned softly and looked away from the settlement. Only time would tell, he supposed. For now though, he had only a single matter left to deal with.

"Allistair Tenpenny next, huh boss?" Clover grinned at his side as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The Wanderer nodded mutely and dropped an arm over her shoulders while stiffling a yawn. "So I'm guessing I work my charms like usual then."

He was shaking his head before she finished speaking, patting the pouch on his armor that held all of the keys.

"No. I want answers first. Something is driving Crowley, something more than revenge, whatever Dukov might claim. There's something out there in Fort Constantine that he desperately wants. And I want to find out what it is.

* * *

Jose scratched at the stubble that had begun to settle heavily along his jaw while staring out the window of the small house a small distance off from Tenpenny Tower, right near Warrington Station. It was somewhat intact, and at least provided some sort of shelter against the wild and wooly wasteland. He and his team were waiting, packed tight and ready to go. Except for Darius, naturally. Jose shook his head as he looked over to the man, who was staring down at a small picture in his large paw of a hand.

The Talon team leader stood after several moments and made his way over to the large black man, dropping a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get him, you know that," he said after a long moment. Darius nodded slowly and muttered something that Jose couldn't quite pick out. "Besides, he can't really be as tough as people make him out to be."

"He was tough enough to take out John," the man answered with a grunt. Jose grimaced softly at that and only offered a big exhalation of breath, patting the man's shoulder again. "I won't be happy until he's had a load of buckshot in both of his knees and then his face."

"I know, man," agreed Jose with a soft nod of his head. "And we're gonna make that happen for ya. But you just gotta leave his head in tact or we don't get paid. I get it, this is about revenge for you. But these other guys? They didn't know your bro like I did. This is a paycheck. For the twins anyways. Ling wants..."

"Ling's a psychopath," snorted Darius as he folded up his picture, one that Jose knew depicted the two brothers after Darius finally joined up with the Talon Company. "He's convinced that this guy is his 'worthy opponent'. Guy gives me the fuckin' creeps."

"You n' me both, man," Jose said after a long moment, looking out through another window. He was waiting to see if either the guy had shown up or if Ling's Stealth Boy was going to run out first. The twins were actually making bets on it. "So what do you think these things that Zombie wants are for anyways?"

"Who gives a shit?" Darius answered gruffly, and Jose smirked and shook his head. He honestly wondered if he was the last intelligent person left alive anymore.

"I gives a shit," he shot back light-heartedly. "Nobody pays for something unless it's worth more than what they're paying for, got me?"

That at least seemed to have caught Darius attention as the man moved over to the other side of the window to lean against it. Jose grinned up at the bear of a man, who cocked an eyebrow, "So... what're you thinking, bossman?"

* * *

**And that's it for this chapter. Next one, a nice game with Mr. Tenpenny, a waiting ambush and the reappearance of an old 'friend' of the Wanderer's.**


	7. A Friendly Game over a Drink

The road had long since cracked and ripped apart and as the Wanderer paced down the pavement, he noted the numerous vehicles that had once been driven by the people of the by-gone Pre-War era with envy. How much shorter his travels would be if these rusted behemoths still functioned! How useful they would be in saving him so much time! But he was no fool. He had absolutely no knowledge on how to restore such a marvel, and any of the people that did were usually more focused on other things. Ways to improve survival as opposed to ways of making things more convenient.

But as he and Clover crested a hill, he saw a shining monolith housing those that would not be opposed to such convenient and luxurious means of travel if it were afforded to them. Provided they ever left their secure home. He'd been here before on another occasion, one of his first tastes of a mercenary life when he'd been hired to put down some unwanted would-be tenants to the tower. He remembered it clearly, stumbling in his unfamiliar body- it had been very recent after he was treated with the fire ant hormone which had granted his body its increased size and strength- deep into the Warrington station. He was sure that his pass into the tower of the rich and cowardly of the wastes would not have expired, considering his 'service' to them.

The task that had once seemed a monument for him to climb- wading into a dark, derelict train station filled with feral ghouls and some of their more sentient cousins- now seemed small to him, considering some of the other tasks he'd completed. He glanced over to Clover momentarily who, despite walking at his side with his arm comfortably around her shoulders, seemed distracted. He frowned down at her and followed her gaze to the horizon. And promptly ceased all of movements.

That cold presence in the back of his mind was stirring, and if he wasn't mistaken it was laced with a feeling unease. So different from the cool, calm certainty and almost mocking feelings that often emanated from it. There was something out there. Something different, and yet familiar. He'd not felt this way since...

But, no. He wouldn't be there. He knew that man would be in the Tower, likely watching him from the moment he entered and calculating his every move. Mister Burke was possessed he believed of the same Presence he himself was blessed with. And when he'd first encountered the man, the Wanderer's presence had yet been in its infantile stages, barely spreading dark wings to brush those shadowy parts of his mind that had allowed him to survive in this craptastic world.

"Interesting," he muttered from beneath his breath. It would seem that his and Burke's Presences were not the only ones out here in this Capitol Wasteland. He wondered idly what this other Presence was, and where the one it was attached to lingered. "Keep your weapon ready, Clover. I want to be ready."

The woman nodded vaguely and continued staring out over the horizon. It was surprising to him that she'd noticed something before him. But...

Weren't those living in a semi-state of sanity blessed with a more abstract thought process than others? So in all, he supposed it would make sense that she'd notice something out of the ordinary before him. He was rightly and Americanly grounded in sanity, whereas his little pet... At least she was competent with her gun and sword.

* * *

Ling lay flat on his belly, his breathing increasing slightly in excitement as he watched the two continue on their way to the tower's walls with their weapons now drawn. It didn't take them long as they increased their pace to a light jog and soon they reached the intercom, where after a moment they were admitted entrance. He'd felt it. He knew he'd felt it! His Friend had hissed coldly in anticipation when something had answered. Surprise, surprise! He wasn't alone! It was fate, it was destiny! It was... amazing.

His target had a Friend of his own, and now his Friend wanted to play meet and greet.

The effects of the stealth boy wore off as the doors slid closed, but his Friend continued to stir in excitement. That cold hiss reached into the darkest depths of his soul and begged him to climb the rubble along the western wall and exact a dance of slashing and blood upon anyone that got in the way to his target. But discipline kept him from breaking ranks. Discipline instilled by both the training of the Talon Company and by the Rigid Doctrine imposed upon him by his father.

"Be as a Shadow," he whispered under his breath. "Undermine the Imperialist and wait, for he shall fall upon his own sword. A gentle push is all that is needed.

Reining in his Friend, Ling quietly slipped off of the ground to report back to Jose. Their prey was near at hand, and soon the dance would begin!

* * *

The Wanderer fought hard not to turn his nose up on the people living here as he made he waited by the elevator that would lead to the Penthouse. If he detested the common Wastelander and held them in contempt as little more than animals, than the people of this decadent and undeserving safety he held as a living embodiment of why the world was trapped in its current state of affairs. They were worse than animals, worse than even Raiders. As they sipped their drinks with laughter in their breath, no want they could think of out of their grasp, others starved to death or died under the sun as the radiation from foul water claimed their lives. He did manage to focus his gaze on his slave and avoid from any snide remarks towards these people.

Clover was handling Gustavo, trading some of their salvage for munitions. As much as the girl wasn't quite right in the head, she was awfully good at bartering. But he couldn't take his mind off of the feeling that had struck him- or more specifically the Presence- out there. He felt as though his own Presence had grown vastly since its first infantile breaths, born in the Super Duper Mart of all places, and though the other Presence they had felt had surprised it, it wasn't particularly shy right now.

It seemed to want to investigate even more than he himself did. He wasn't sure if that was good news or bad news, but in any case his curiosity had been aroused.

Clover made her way over, her business with Gustavo completed and offered a nod with a gentle wink. She held out the bag of caps she'd made off of the trade to him, smirking as she said, "Two hundred caps off of some microfusion cells, energy cells, and those couple of pistols we picked off of those scabs out by Fairfax."

He nodded distractedly and answered softly, "I want you to remain down here. Got to the lounge and get yourself some food. I think I want to handle this one alone."

Her face fell somewhat at that, but the woman nodded. Unfettered with her, he could hopefully gain information from Tenpenny without being distracted. With a soft sigh, the man pressed the elevator button to take him up. Stepping inside, he leaned back against the inner wall of the elevator with closed eyes. Convincing Tenpenny to tell him of the Fort would be difficult without doubt, and with his team of security- or even the sinister Burke lurking in the shadows- he doubted death threats would do the trick.

He glanced up at the camera positioned in the corner of the elevator, as if his thoughts would conjure Burke from that devilish piece of Pre-War tech. He brushed aside his paranoia with a practiced mental effort and fell deep into the soothing cold of the Presence. And it wrapped its wings around his mind in a way that left goosebumps crawling up his skin despite the very warm nature of his stealth suit. It was almost as if it were saying, _I'll take care of this._ When he breathed out again, the doors opened and he stepped out into the penthouse of Tenpenny Tower. His icy eyes had become glacial and his movements the liquid grace of a predator. Any conjured nervousness concerning Burke had been dispelled. Whether the man was here or not, it was inconsequential until he presented himself as a threat.

"What are you doing here?" came a voice off to his side, and when he glanced over at the security guard who sat outside of Tenpenny's suite a long smile presented itself over his features, hidden beneath his grim mask.

The Wanderer stepped out onto the balcony of Tenpenny's suite. After he'd searched for several minutes and had not found him, the Presence had pulled his attention to the balcony doors, as if whispering in its soothing darkness, _This way._ And sure enough as he emerged out onto the balcony, there was Tenpenny seated comfortably in a chair with a glass of whiskey poised near his lips. The man did not spare him a glance, nor did he move to finish his drink. It seemed as if the sunset had enraptured him. The Wanderer followed his gaze towards the plethora of colors that had enraptured the sky and he could admit it was quite a sight to behold, especially after nineteen years of SimuSun technology.

"Please, come and sit," the man said in a distinctly accented voice that was extremely pleasant and well mannered. It occurred to the Wanderer that this was the first time he'd met the man, despite having done his grunt work a month or so back. Doing as he was asked, he took the spare chair on the other side of Tenpenny, and was surprised as a drink was poured and offered in his direction. Offering a quiet thanks, he pulled the mask of his helmet up and watched the sunset with this man. Out of the corner of his eye though he studied him.

Dressed in a fine, if somewhat stained red jacket and a pair of beige slacks tucked into high boots, the man screamed the old world conception of 'Gentleman'. He gently sipped his drink- which had genuine ice cubes- while observing the interplay of colors before him, intelligent eyes set in a face that seemed withered and ancient, but still held some of the hard lines of a life genuinely lived.

For nearly fifteen minutes they sat in affable silence, each sipping their drinks, before Tenpenny suddenly sighed and set his drink on the table before turning to the Wanderer with a smile that immediately struck him as being friendly.

"I know you," said Tenpenny with a grin, and the Wanderer was indeed ensured that it was an accent, foreign to good ol' American soil, coming from the man. The man leaned forward and smirked, "Yes, you're that capital fellow that helped me with ghoulish situation." He offered a small, chuckle at his own cleverness. "Mmyes, you did a right good job at smashing that, what was it, Ray? and his overly ambitious plans of gaining entrance to my excellent little piece of Heaven. So, what can I do for you my dear boy?"

"I'm curious," the Wanderer said, and he found himself momentarily unbalanced. Could this really be the man that Crowley had sent him after? He was just... charming, and friendly. Then again, considering his sentiments about the ghouls that had wanted to live here... "About a mission funded by yourself, Mister Tenpenny-"

"Oh, call me Allistair. It gets tiresome to always have those drones of Gustavo constantly going on," laughed the man after holding up a hand to stop him. The Wanderer offered a cool smile, one that was reflected deeply by the Presence coiled in his mind.

"Very well, Allistair," he said in deference, casually folding his ankle over his knee while leaning to the side as he propped his chin on a fist. "You funded a mission some years ago, up north. From what I understand it was a four man-"

"Five man, well," Tenpenny smiled and took another sip from his drink, surprising the Wanderer as he interrupted him again. "You're partly correct. Four men and one woman. And Tara was such a looker. Fort Constantine, am I correct?"

This... is not going how I was expecting it.

The Wanderer frowned and blinked slowly. He felt as though one moment he'd been holding all the cards, only to flip them over and find all fifty-two to be Jokers. It was with a deep and slow motion that he nodded. Allistair smiled and gestured for him to pick up his drink. He did so and the man clinked his glass with his.

"Do you play chess?" asked Tenpenny unexpectedly, directing his attention to the chessboard with all of its pieces surprisingly there and intact. The Wanderer frowned and nodded softly, though he hadn't really played the last few weeks he'd been in the Vault, so caught up in work was he. It had actually been one of his rather favorite pastimes. The man clapped his hands together and exclaimed, "Capital! Simply capital! What say to a friendly little game, hmm? You and me."

He was just about to refuse when the Presence in his mind suddenly gave a great beat of its shadowy wings and hissed angrily. His eyes shot to the door that slowly opened and to the pair of figures that quickly stepped through it. One was Clover, struggling and snarling even with the pistol leveled against her temple and the other...

The other wore a grim expression of disappointment with a Fedora pulled low on his head, further compounding the shadow that his dark sunglasses cast over his eyes. Even if the man wore a grim face but otherwise wore no armor, the was a danger, a threat there that responded to his Presence. He could feel that shadow in his mind rising to the threat, and it was as if a two pairs of wings were beating now against one another, his Presence against Burke's own. As much as he had fancied that the shadow lurking in the back of his mind had grown formidable in its own right, Burke's still displayed a frightful bit more of shadowy energy.

"Ah, and there is Mister Burke now," the man continued pleasantly. He leaned back in his own chair after finishing his drink. "Such a decent man. Handles the things I'm too old to take care of anymore."

The Wanderer was too stunned to move from his casual position. This was not how he envisioned this meeting would take place at _all._ The man was used to being several steps ahead of any adversary he came across, whether it be in wordplay or in combat. But now... now he was sitting here, stumped in both with Burke holding a gun on his companion, ready to pull the trigger in a moment's notice. The Presence in his mind whispered to him, of how inconsequential she was and if he just let her die, he could kill both Tenpenny and Burke, be on his way and get his pay from Crowley. He almost reached for his pistol.

But somewhere, a part of him that had grown up wide eyed in the Vault protested the action.

"Stop struggling, Clover. If you don't, he will kill you. And then I'd be very disappointed."

The words came of their own accord, and he was startled he'd come to the defence of one he'd only a week ago been contemplating blasting out both of her knees. At his voice, the blonde woman stopped her struggling and looked at him with wide eyes. She became still as a statue, and in her astonished eyes he could pick out the beginnings of tears growing in her wide, green eyes that were giving way to fear.

"It seems you do have some sort of sense between your ears, my dear boy," Burke's low and insidious voice stretched across the balcony to him. He fought the urge to glare in Burke's direction, and instead focused his attention on Tenpenny.

"Well, since we'll be playing a game of chess, why not make it a game of questions as well," smiled Tenpenny and only now could he saw below that calmly facilitated gentlemanly demeanor was something wicked. "I'll start." Even as he said this he was moving a pawn forward and looked inviting as the Deathclaw the Wanderer had just faced down the day before. "Why are you so curious about what happened at Fort Constantine?"

Carefully, the Wanderer moved to a more comfortable position to survey the chessboard, keeping his voice level and his eyes pointedly off of the captive Clover, and responded as he moved one of his own pawns forward, "Mister Crowley, one of the mercenaries you hired I'm sure you recall, hired me to kill you. Along with the rest of the team you'd sent in. You're the only one left, but I'm curious as to just what is so important up at Fort Constantine that I felt it warranted an explanation... and a questioning of Crowley's worth of possessing it." He reached for his drink, noting for a moment that his hand had a quiver to it. "I answered, now it's my turn to question. What is so important up at Fort Constantine?"

"Other than the largest stockpile of nuclear weapons, chap?" chuckled Tenpenny, moving forward his bishop this time. The Wanderer warily watched as the piece sailed across the board. "I'm not entirely sure. Something that zombie obviously covets to a great extent- besides revenge of course. But that's not really my concern. You were rather forthright with the information of Crowley hiring you. Did you not think that... unwise?"

The Wanderer slowly slipped his eyes to lock onto the older man's and a smile curled along his features, trying to put forth as much false bravado as he could manage, "Is that your question?"

"Oh!" Tenpenny shook his head with a laugh, recanting and wagging a finger at him, "My you're such a bright chap! An absolute delightful change. No... I suppose my question would be, what would it be worth to you to forget this... revenge quest of his?"

Looking back to the board, the Wanderer moved a knight this time, moving it in front of his line of pawns as he considered the question. Would he so willingly give up this hunt he'd already dedicated so much time and effort towards? A quick glance at Clover, still held in the clutches of Burke had him asking another startling question of himself.

What am I prepared to lose for another man's vendetta?

"He was paying me one hundred caps per head," he answered with a small frown, watching as Tenpenny moved another of his pawns. "I've already dispatched three of the four." He moved own bishop this time, in a move mirroring Tenpenny's. Only he'd brought the Master of the Tower into checkmate. The man had left his king wide open to dispatchment. Looking into the man's eyes, he remarked calmly, "Checkmate. The question becomes, how much are you willing to pay?"

The British man frowned as he looked at the board before a smile bolstered his features again, with an appreciative look of admiration.

"Very nice, very eloquent!" laughed the man and tilted his head in admiration, before refilling his glass and topping off the Wanderer's. "It seems I'm far out of practice playing with the dullards around here." Off-handedly he glanced back at Mister Burke with a small gesture. After a moment's hesitation, the man released Clover, who quickly stumbled forward, trembling as she dashed to his side. "Mister Burke here always lets me win, so that doesn't help." The man's eyes locked onto his with the amusement still flickering in them while he leaned forward with his hands folded beneath his chin.

"What would you say to... three hundred caps for killing him," Tenpenny said after a long moment of gazing him over, and smiled softly, "One hundred caps paid up front, with the rest payable upon his death."

The Wanderer considered the offer for a long moment, his brow creased deeply in thought. The task would be simple enough to complete, almost hysterically so... but what of Fort Constantine? The mystery of the place so contested left a hot curiosity burning to be sated inside of him.

"After I go to Fort Constantine and see what the fuss is all about," he said slowly, noticing the cool smile that Burke was leveling his way with no small amount of irritation, "I'll take care of it."

"Good, good. Ah, Mister Burke. The young lady's caps. And the additional fee if you would," Tenpenny said at last with a soft clap of his hands. The man seemed intensely fond of doing that, to the point it almost seemed like a nervous tick. Burke nodded and tossed the bag of Clover's caps back to the woman, who only sluggishly caught it and then proceeded to count out the hundred caps to the Wanderer. As he was leaned over, he grinned and said something quietly that had the Presences between them hissing and threatening to collide in the close proximity.

"It appears you and I are not so different, my dear boy."

* * *

Stiffly walking out of the gates of the Tower, the Wanderer heaved a deep sigh of relief. He was undecided if he really wanted to shoot Crowley as opposed to Tenpenny, but just getting out of that place alive seemed plenty pay enough. That had been closer than he wanted it to be. Far, _far_ closer than he could have ever imagined it to be. And that was when he realized his conceptions of clumping all of these wastelanders together in one ambiguous pot labeled 'barbaric, wildlife, barely sentient animals' was vastly false. Tenpenny had been a different experience for him, even with Burke's familiar malevolent Presence lingering at his side. The man had proven that not all of these wasteland savages were idiots. It was in this realization that he began to suspect that Tenpenny had deliberately allowed him to put him in checkmate.

Clover, who had been clinging to him, sighed softly and seemed to breathe a little easier now that they were outside of the gates of Tenpenny's Tower of decadence.

"Master-"

The heavy report of a rifle, cut her sentence off.

* * *

**Alrighty folks, that's chapter seven! Hope ya'll enjoyed it and go ahead and leave a review either way. I'd like to address a couple of things first.**

**Yes, I realize that the Presence is similar to the Dark Passenger in Jeff Lindsay's _Dexter_ books. This is where I drew my inspiration for the thing. And it made sense to me, given some both in game material and some imaginative material which formed around in my head. I will touch on the in-game material at a later date, likely with another short story. As for the imaginative material... What is the S.P.E.C.I.A.L.- specifically the Perception? How is it that you're able to discern between friend and foe? The Presence was my solution to this, and I felt that some other characters would be rightly deserving of one of their own in the wastelands. I also wanted to create something that would show the psychological struggle between The Wanderer and the Kid from One-Oh-One, or at least who he used to be, and felt why not give it a more literal sense of the term, something created- or drawn to him- which is keeping him alive but at the same time seems to be filtering away his humanity to more he relies on it. Seemed perfectly reasonable to me. Anyways sorry about the cliffhanger, but I'll make it up with my next update I'm hopin'.**

**Yes! We're coming up to the first conflict between the Wanderer and Clover against the Talon Mercs Crowley hired.**


	8. Ambushed!

Clover screamed as the bullet cut across the side of her head, and the Wanderer's hand quickly snatched her and dragged her stumbling along. It was only the motion of her head as she spoke that had saved her from a fatal wound to the head. The Wanderer, for his part, knew to move though. Whoever had taken that shot was deadly accurate and he'd identified the gun as a hunting rifle, a marksman weapon. This was not something he wanted to play with.

"Move!" he commanded with a growl as another shot ricocheted off of the compound walls of the Tower. He could hear the alarmed shouts of Tenpenny's security team from just over the concrete, and even as he was contemplating calling over for help, a volley of return fire came from over the walls. Glancing over his shoulder as Clover finally managed to find her footing and keep pace beside him, he saw two figures in black combat armor fall to the ground in crouches, running parallel to them. He recognized the distinct black armor instantly and a grimace found its way across his features; Talon Company. They were probably some more lackeys given the bounty notice after he'd refused Burke in detonating the bomb in Megaton. He'd already dealt with a few of their teams but this group... they were moving differently. They weren't operating with the near berserker rush most of the bounty hunters after him had usually employed. These two were moving like hunters.

They were dangerous.

He turned the corner quickly, ready to try and outpace the two and hopefully lose them in an open rush across the field until he could find better cover to deal with them. That plan turned to hell as he nearly ran face first into the barrel of a combat shotgun. Only instinctively dropping saved him from a load of buckshot that would have taken his head off regardless of his helmet. As he came up, he knocked the barrel upwards and stomped the bridge of the man's foot, driving down with as much force as he could. There was a sickening crunch before the man screamed. To his credit, he tried to bring the gun back down, but the Wanderer slammed his knee into his stomach. While the body armor protected the man from the worst of the blow, the strength contained in that blow folded the mercenary over his knee. The Wanderer snapped his hands down to the man's head and snapped him towards the wall. He didn't have time to enjoy watching man's head bounce off of the concrete as Clover's sawed-off exploded. Looking over, he watched as a man came running at them, leaping and bounding over debris and rubble with a sword held out at his side. At his sprinting approach, the Presence in his mind reared in alarm; this man was running with shadowy wings heralding his approach.

Stepping in front of Clover, he drew his katana and quickly intercepted the strike that would have cut through her neck, bracing the flat edge of the blade against his palm. His attacker drew close, pressing his blade against the Wanderer's with a twisted smile on his features.

"We meet at last," the man hissed, and he could almost swear he saw the shadowy form of something moving behind his eyes. Briefly he wondered if this was what others saw in his own ice blue eyes. "Your sword will be mine."

The Wanderer snorted and kicked the man's shin, unbalancing him for a moment and spun out of the way with a sharp slash that the man parried with a ring of steel on steel, but his movement left the man open to another blast by Clover's sawed-off. Any other person would have been leveled from the buckshot that issued forth from the barrels of death... but this man moved like he did. Agile as a cat, he spun out of the way and brought his sword down on the shotgun, knocking it from his slave's grasp. His mind, though stunned, became overwhelmed by the dangerous feeling of the Presence responding to the threat and his body moved of its own accord, drawing one of his pistols. Squeezing off a quick succession of rounds at the man, he frowned as the man lept backwards and avoided the bullets.

He was good, he could spin around the barrel of any gun when brought into close quarters and likely break the arm of whoever held it if not cut it off... but dodging bullets?! The man continued to back off and the Wanderer stared with wide eyes as he actually _flipped_ away on his hands. That just wasn't natural! He actually moved _faster_ than the Wanderer. Emptying an entire clip, he only managed to graze the man on the armor on his shoulder.

"Hey kid!" a voice called from ahead, drawing his attention to a man holding a chinese assault rifle, aiming down the sights at him and Clover. "Crowley says hello!"

His eyes narrowed into fiery slits of hatred. That fucking ghoul was actually double-crossing him?!

Shoving Clover quickly, he pushed her and ran himself out of the line of automatic fire that suddenly peppered the area they'd been occupying. They ran, and he knew if either one of them were hit the game was over. But he forced himself to a speed he'd never known before with thoughts of revenge polluting his mind.

* * *

"Alright, back off! Give 'em some space!" Jose called to his team, watching as one of the twins ran over to where Darius was still crumbled on the ground. He did his best to ignore the glares and rifle muzzles leveled their way from over the wall. He looked over to Ling for a moment, shaking his head. The man was a complete damn psycho... but he was a helluva a thing to watch at work. Even if he couldn't stick to the damn plan! "Mike, Mark, whichever one of you fucks got Darius, patch that wound up and let's get goin'. I wanna keep 'em running, but we're giving them space from here on out." Finally, he looked up to one of the security team still looking down at them. "Sorry about the turbulence folks. Talon Company business on behalf of Mister Burke. Ya heard of him?"

As one the group that had looked ready to put them down suddenly appeared nervous and looked over their shoulders as if someone was going to appear over their shoulder in any moment.

"_Necesito tener una buena reputación como Cristo_," Jose commented to himself in spanish, before jogging down to Darius. The man's head was split open, but the wound at least looked superficial. The big dark man's eyes were lit with fire though. In english, he asked sardonically, "Guess he is pretty decent, huh?"

"We _are_ gonna kill this motherfucker, aren't we Jose?" Darius demanded as Mike- whom Jose could identify a little closer now- jabbed a stimpack into his brow and jammed the plunger down.

"Bet your ass," chuckled the team leader, glancing uncomfortably over at Ling as the man had not moved, simply staring after the running pair. "Problem is... you might be fightin' with Ling over who gets to kill him."

"Cross that bridge when we get there, boss," snapped Darius, gritting his teeth as Mike began putting some gauze on the wound. "Right now, I just don't wanna lose the trail."

* * *

"Fuck!" Clover shouted as they ran, her breathing ragged. Though he fully agreed with her sentiment, he didn't vocalize it. That was NOT the way that any Talon merc group that had ever come after him operated. They moved in a synchronized manner, and had perfectly planned how to herd them both to right where they wanted him. It was only the fact that his enemies had underestimated him that they'd managed to escape. As they ran, he played the scenario back over in his mind, play by play.

The two that had originally opened fire on them with hunting rifles, they'd been positioned so the only logical choice for safety had been to take the path where the other man with the shotgun had been calmly waiting. When that had failed... the man with the sword had made his rush and he very well could have killed Clover if not for his own intervention. And then the man with the assault rifle had revealed himself. The Wanderer would bet anything that he was the mastermind behind the ambush, but something about the trap didn't make sense. Why would the man with the sword rush them at that moment? Sure, he'd nearly taken out Clover but... it had placed him nearly in the line of fire of the man calling the shots.

"They're gonna be after us for a good stretch, Clover," he said, and the use of her name had the woman pausing in her stride somewhat as she looked over at him. "While we've got a chance, drink something."

The woman nodded automatically, pulling a bottle of purified water to her lips as he did the same. One of the main dangers of the wastes was dehydration. Sure, the raiders, Super Mutants, and other dangerous forms of life running around could and would kill them in a moments notice, but dehydration was the silent killer. One that could and would sneak up on a person. After draining the entirety of their bottles and tossing aside the spent trash, the two continued at a brisk pace, though no longer outright running. The Wanderer tossed his rifle to Clover along with a few magazines to replace her lost sawed-off, while he drew his pair of pistols, ready to confront whoever- or whatever- decided to get in their way.

Purpose burned clearly in the Wanderer. He wanted to get to Fort Constantine, find out what the hell Crowley double-crossed him over, kill these mercs, and then put a nice steaming piece of lead inside of Crowley's rotted forehead.

* * *

Darius' vision swam as he trailed behind Mark who was taking point- far behind Ling who continually kept ahead of the group and the few times he was seen appearing as little more than an inanimate piece of rubble- while running the encounter with this... this _kid_ over in his mind. His head throbbed from the blow he'd taken, sure. But what had him on edge was the sheer strength of that man they were after. He stood a full head and shoulders over him and was probably a little wider about the shoulders... but the man had folded _in half_ with a simple knee to the gut. He'd had raiders hopped up on psycho slug him in the gut with tire irons with barely the same effect! And then the fact that he'd thrown him aside like a ragdoll...? There was something way off about this guy, and as he looked to Jose to voice this his comments died in his throat. The man had that focused look in his eyes, lined with an edge of excitement.

"This is still about the contract on this guy, right Jose?" Darius asked after a moment, looking over his shoulder to see Mike covering their rear with his hunting rifle. "This isn't going to be more about this crap in the Fort?"

"I told you before, Darius. For you it's about revenge," Jose said after a moment's consideration. "The rest of us are in it for the money. Thing is, this guy's still worth a thousand caps. Five way split that's what... Two hundred each? That's really not all that much. So if I'm looking out for a little extra on the side? Hey, who can blame me. We don't know what's going to be up at this Fort. Why not let him get a little ahead of us and clear the way? It'd do us good. And one way or another, we'll get him. Besides, we've got an advantage. He's heading towards Fort Bannister. Where he's gotta go around it, we can stop and restock for a minute. Maybe get something to drink. Him and that bitch with him, they've gotta go around for a _mile_ without getting seen. That's gonna take them a little bit."

"So why not just get him there?" Darius asked tiredly, gingerly touching the gauze and bandages around his head.

"You wanna split a thousand cap bounty with the entire Fort?" snorted Jose after a moment, shaking his head. "Not me, man. We're gonna nail this guy ourselves. Provided Ling can stick to the plan this time around, we'll have this fuck and his bitch laying facedown on the ground riddled full of bullets after we get to the Fort."

Darius nodded softly, trying to accept that. He was trying to accept what Jose said but... He'd looked in this kid's eyes, not Jose. He'd seen the darkness stirring behind those dangerous blue eyes. It reminded him far too much of Ling- except this guy actually seemed balanced. This wasn't a quasi-raider they were dealing with and Darius wasn't afraid to admit the thought made him nervous.

And a thinking psychopath that can throw me like I'm not even there is a good reason to be nervous.

Darius sighed softly and shook his head. They'd almost got him, he just had to keep reminding himself. This time, when they caught up, when Jose gave them their orders, there wouldn't be any foul-ups.

* * *

**And another update! I know, I know. I just gave you guys something last night around two in the morning... but like I said, I want to get this story finished before the turn of the year and courtesy of Commandocucumber's inspiring advice, I've got a LOT to get out now. So, continue on this trip with me boys and girls and when it's done, keep an eye out for the continuation of the Wanderer and Clover's tales in **_**Tranquility Ends before the Tides.**_

**Leave a review, good or ill.**


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